Harry Potter and the Will to Live
by Sherri Lyn CarMikel
Summary: Harry is not a normal teenager. Most peole know that, especially the ones who know him most. In a tale of despair, grief, guilt, love, and hardships that no one should ever have to bear, he must find the strength to conquer his fears and kill Voldemort be
1. Default Chapter

Chapter One: Return to #12 Grimmauld Place  
  
Harry Potter and the Will to Live  
  
Number 4 Privet Drive was currently under siege. Normally, when Harry thought of the word 'siege', he thought of armies and soldiers and people fighting or attacking one another. If the thousands of buckets of water falling from the sky every other millisecond could be considered soldiers, then the entire community of Surrey was definitely under siege.  
A small teenage boy with the awkward appearance of a haunted soul, just on the verge of manhood, could be seen out of the second floor window. He sat, clad only in a pair of jeans, at his scarred mahogany desk with a quill of red ink in his hand and an envelope in his other. He was, surprisingly, writing not to his two best friends or the Weasleys but to Cho Chang.  
The letter in his left hand was neatly creased and written on in bright blue ink. It hurt Harry's abused, tired eyes to read it, but he did. Cho was a good distraction from Sirius and Voldemort and the Wizarding World at large, so he decided to grace her with a letter. He was still peeved at her for defending Marietta, the girl who had snitched on the Defense Against the Dark Arts group Harry, Hermione, and Ron had created when the Defense professor, assigned by the Ministry itself, had refused to show them the practicalities that they'd need to know, both in theory and practice, for their O. W. L.'s. Harry admitted he'd done better than he'd expected to. In fact, he'd been shocked speechless when he realized he had seven O. W. L.'s; enough to have him in the five core N. E. W. T. classes he'd need to get into Auror training.  
Hermione, on the other hand, had gotten into the record books for one of the highest scores in the entire history of Hogwarts. She'd been awarded a certificate and a gold plate to hang up on her walls. She hadn't, however, managed to beat James Potter, Sirius Black, Lily Evans, or, much to Harry's disgust, the other five wizards, including Tom Riddle. He hadn't told them his scores, although he had a good inkling someone had already slid it open and had read it before sending it off to him. The Weasleys, he was learning fast, seemed to be able to read his mind a lot more lately. Probably with advice from Remus Lupin, who Harry had told, discreetly of coarse, that he didn't want anyone to read them.  
Although it peeved him a little because it was behind his back, Harry wasn't that upset over it. Actually, Harry didn't really care much about anything anymore. He stayed in his room, keeping to his letters and books (usually the volumes Sirius and Lupin had given him last year for Christmas), and pretty much ignored everything and anything outside of his walls. The Dursleys were too scared of having a group of suspicious looking wizards and witches coming inside to check up on his well being to make him do anything he didn't want to do. Although he did most of the chores they meagerly 'asked' him to do, it was only because his mind hurt so much and he got so paranoid that he was scared it was either kill himself and get it over with, or scream, so he stuck to busy work, which hadn't, up until now, worked too well.  
But he figured Cho was a good enough distraction, considering it exhausted him just to hold a conversation with the woman for a few minutes. Maybe it would help him sleep better, though he seriously doubted it.  
He sighed, then pressed his quill down and began writing.  
  
Cho,  
  
My summer has been okay. Boring and annoying, considering I have to waste it around with my evil Muggle relatives. Really, they are evil. I hope your having a good one, or at least a better one than me. Have you read that article in the last Sunday Prophet? It was completely and totally about a new contest. One where a person seventeen or younger has to write a story about today's events and possibly the future, with Voldemort in it and everything. Odd, isn't it, that they're making it out to be a game, don't you think?  
Anyway, I can't talk much; I have to do chores.  
  
H. P.  
  
He sighed, then leaned back. Nope, he mused, that wasn't much of a distraction. It was hopeless. Absolutely hopeless not to think of Sirius, about what he might have been doing right now. Maybe he'd be cleaning or writing a letter to Harry. Either way, he believed it was his fault that Sirius wasn't doing anything.  
Harry leaned his head back against the hard rim of the chair, stared out into the dark, pounding rain. In the distance he could vaguely see the sun with its burst of red, purple, and pink dropping below the edge of the horizon. Harry wondered if he'd fade like that when he died. If he did succeed in conquering Voldemort, which he was determined to do for his parents and Sirius, would he be like the sun, shining bright for a while, then becoming dimmer and dimmer until it faded out of existence? Would he be forgotten, or worshipped for his sacrifice if he failed and died in the attempt? He wondered if the Weasleys would still be supporting him and trying to comfort him if he failed again.  
Not for the first time Harry felt his shoulders drop and his head ache as he made it blank and clear. Occlumency was all he had when Voldemort tried to penetrate his mind. Whatever Voldemort was planning for Harry's new demise, it must involve something of his location or something, because whenever he looked outside into the world, that sharp, painful prick in the middle of his mind sent shivers throughout his body and ice through his veins.  
So he closed his eyes and tried to sleep. It didn't happen. He stayed in that position, keeping uncomfortable so if he did actually get a little sleep, he'd wake up instantly because he was in an awkward position in case he had another nightmare.  
Miserably, he gave up and sat straighter, propping his feet up onto the bare, open windowsill. Rain was splattering on the wooden floor, but he didn't care. For once he was using Tonks and Moody as a tool to get what he wanted, and didn't feel a bit guilty. If he was going to be plagued by sleep deprivation, then so be it he could do what he wanted during it.  
The sun was completely gone when Harry next opened his eyes. There was no moon as far as he could see, no stars. Just darkness and the light drops of rain that he could somehow distinguish from the rest. He'd been doing that a lot lately, he realized. Staring into space, thinking of nothing but the darkness his life seemed to attract, thinking of this and that or if this would happen or the opposite of that. Sometimes his thoughts separated in so many directions that Harry confused himself. So he didn't even try to write it down to send to his friends, not even as a distraction for himself.  
Harry contented himself with going over the prophecy again in his mind, repeating it until it engraved itself on his eyelids. It worried him, as soon as he gave the time to think of it. When Dumbledore had told him about it, explained to him the meaning of it, he had been too caught up with Sirius' death to listen and make up his own opinions. Even that day by the pond, he hadn't considered it through and through, hadn't sulked about it hours on end, thinking and plotting and trying to find a way to make yourself live through whatever it was that was hidden in the murky depths of Hell he called his future.  
Maybe if Sirius were alive he'd have more hope. Maybe, if he hadn't led his godfather to his death, he'd still be blissfully unaware of the invisible mark placed on his soul.  
Similar thoughts carried through his mind that night. Even the highest level of exhaustion he'd been riding on for days wasn't enough to have him sleeping, even resting fitfully. He didn't bother to get into bed because he knew at least sitting by the window he got to stare at something that moved instead of cracks in the paint or his calendar, dreading the days that he had not too long ago treasured. Hogwarts was still his home, the place he'd like to be for comfort, but he resented it now. It represented everything he'd put himself and his friends through. The memories of Sirius were just so great, so painful he wasn't sure he'd survive going there again.  
The sharp tug-of-war in his head gave him a throbbing headache. He wanted to go back to Hogwarts, yet he didn't. He didn't want to go to Grimmauld Place, yet he wanted so desperately to pretend that Sirius would walk into the kitchen, grumbling again, as if nothing had ever happened. Tears stung his eyes, the unfairness of it made him sick, and his exhaustion seemed to prevent him from getting a single second of rest.  
He was sitting like that when his Aunt knocked on the door, then barged in before Harry could reply. Harry opened his eyes and looked at her upside down. His body seemed to be too tired to want to move, so he improvised.  
"If you want your breakfast, get downstairs now, young man," she said crisply. "I expect you to clean the kitchen today, since I did it for you yesterday."  
"Not hungry," Harry said flatly, then closed his eyes again. "And make Dudley clean them."  
"Potter," she scolded, her voice going higher with frustration, "you will do your part for this household-"  
"I'm currently doing as much as Dudley does in a year, Aunt Petunia. And I really don't care what you say," he told her before she could speak. "If you try and make me I'll just send Hedwig out..."  
"Now, there's no need for that," she said hurriedly. "I'll do them myself then." She slammed the door behind her, making Harry furrow his brows in annoyance. Just when he got comfortable with the silence and his own self-pity, she had to come and make him feel even worse. But he stayed in that chair. He hadn't been lying when he'd said he was doing as much as Dudley ever did. If she had a problem with that, then she could make the tub of lard she called an intelligent son do the dishes.  
He closed his eyes and shuddered as pain erupted in his head. His body tensed in reaction, then slowly, over the amount of about five minutes, relaxed. The tension, however, took much longer to fade away from his muscles. Clenching his wand (nowadays he never let it out of his sight), he rolled his head and met his eyes on the mirror on the back of his closet.  
The teenage boy, the one with bruises around his eyes, whose hair was growing at a quick speed to fall into those same, bruised orbs, stared back at him with a wisdom he knew nobody should have, and the wariness of an old man born into the harshness of war.  
* * * * * *  
  
Dear Harry Potter,  
  
Dumbledore has approved that you may go to visit the Weasleys. An Order member, who, needless to say, you are to listen to at all times, will be picking you up. Please be ready around 6 o'clock Sunday evening. You will be taking a Portkey from Magnolia Crescent to the Weasleys.  
  
Headmistress Minerva McGonagall  
  
The short letter arrived nearly a half-hour before 6 o'clock on Sunday. Harry cursed the Headmistress for not giving him more of a forewarning than thirty minutes, but he stood. Slowly, of coarse, since he found out that if he stood up quick enough the Earth spinned on its axis. He wondered if something was wrong as he packed. Really, wouldn't McGonagall have usually given him at least a day's warning? he asked himself as he threw books and cloths and smashed them into his chest. Then he dashed out of his room and stopped at the top of the stairs.  
"Someone's coming to pick me up!" he shouted. "I don't know who and I just got notified, so it's not my fault!" Then, before either of his relatives could blow a casket in front of him, he sprinted back into his room and cleaned out his dresser. By the time he slammed the top of his chest down and finished folding his wand into the waist of his jeans securely, the doorbell was ringing and he could hear Lupin's voice.  
"Evening, Petunia," he said to her politely.  
Harry exited his room in time to see her and Vernon both flush purple in pained silence.  
"I trust you've had a good summer so far, Harry?"  
He kept his head down because he knew he looked horrible. However much he hated the Dursleys, he didn't want them to be blamed for not taking good enough care of him.  
"Yeah," he lied quietly.  
"What about Hedwig?" he asked gently.  
Harry shrugged. "I sent her along a few days ago. She hasn't come back yet."  
"All right, then." Lupin grabbed Harry's trunk and murmured a spell over it to make it lighter. Then, signaling to him, he led the way out of Number 4 Privet Drive and into the sunlight.  
"You've lost weight," Lupin observed after several moments of silence. "And you look like you just came out of a black pit."  
Harry looked up, forgetting himself. Lupin stopped abruptly and grabbed Harry's chin.  
"Bloody hell," he muttered seriously, "you look ready to pass out right here."  
"I'm fine," Harry lied. Truth be told he'd rather curl up on a ball on the sidewalk and sleep. As he couldn't see that happening, he wanted to get to Grimmauld Place as soon as they could so he could go sit down. He felt overheated and sick, but didn't want to admit it.  
"Are you feeling okay?" Lupin looked so concerned and flustered that Harry began to feel guilty. Again.  
"I'm fine, Lup-"  
"Remus," he corrected unconsciously.  
"But I would like to get there-" The world spinned. Remus reached out a hand to steady him. Harry hit his knees, his descent slowed down by his companion.  
"Easy, there. You still with me?"  
"Yeah," Harry choked out, his left hand clutching his scar. "Yeah, just give me a minute."  
As it always did, the seizure took about five minutes and than another for him to recover all feeling in his body again. He felt something being pressed into his hand, then Remus' arm wrapping itself around his skinny shoulders. Harry's vision had blurred, and his knees felt like jelly; so when they landed Harry heard rather than saw the kitchen of Grimmauld Place and its occupants gasping.  
"Remus, what's wrong? Were you attacked?"  
"No, no, Harry just collapsed. Maybe you should call Madam Pomfrey, Molly?"  
Harry gripped Remus' wrist, met his eyes. "I'm fine," he said firmly. The attack was over. He had control again. Could Voldemort have picked a worse time? "Really," he insisted. "I'd know, wouldn't I?"  
"Was it your scar?" George Weasley, one of Ron's twin brothers asked worriedly.  
"Yeah, but it wasn't bad. He's just messing with me."  
"That wasn't bad?" Kingsley Shacklebolt asked slowly. "Then I'd hate to see when he's trying to hurt you, not just mess you up."  
"I'm fine," he repeated.  
"I'd feel better if you saw the matron-"  
  
"What is she going to do?" he said angrily. "Diagnose me insane? It just happens, its normal, there's nothing she can do."  
Remus looked at Molly, then to Charlie and the twins. Fred, George, and Charlie shrugged in unison, unsure of what to do.  
"Fine," he said reluctantly," but you have to promise to tell me if it happens again."  
"Promise," Harry said instantly. Yeah, right, sure.  
"He's serious, Harry," Mrs. Weasley said, her face creasing with worry. "In fact, why don't you go lie down and send Ron and the girls down here?"  
"But I'm fi-"  
"Harry Potter!"  
"I'm going, I'm going," he said, ducking out of the room, glaring at her.  
"God, Mum," Fred said with a whoosh of breath, "scare him to death, why don't you?"  
Harry wiped his forehead with his shirt before opening the door. He was sweating.  
"Harry!"  
Hermione jumped on him as soon as he opened the door. He took a step back to keep his balance, then hugged her back. It felt good to be hugged for some reason. Especially by someone who smelled so fresh and clean when you felt grimy and dirty. She kissed his cheek, then stood back to assess him.  
"Oh, Harry." She hugged him again, this time squeezing even tighter and pressing her face against his chest. "It'll get better. You have to believe that."  
He glanced at Ron and Ginny, who were staring at him avidly. They looked abruptly away.  
"Come on, I don't look that bad, do I?" Harry asked self-consciously.  
  
Hermione pulled him to his bed and pushed him down. "You are going to sleep right now and not wake up until you look like your living again."  
Harry groaned as Ginny joined Hermione in pushing him down.  
"Fine! I'm lying down!" Harry shouted.  
"More like pouting," Ron said, holding back a laugh at his face.  
"Ronald and Virginia Weasley, get down here now and let him sleep!" Mrs. Weasley shrieked.  
Harry wanted to call them back. Maybe if he had someone by him when (or if) he fell asleep, he'd feel safer, less vulnerable. Then he could get some rest. Harry didn't though. He couldn't express such a weakness, especially right now. For one thing Ron would laugh and the girls would all drown him in pity. He curled up, clutching his wand to his chest and pinching his eyes closed against the hot rush of tears.  
"Harry? I brought you some Dreamless Sleep Potion...Harry?"  
"Just leave it on the table."  
"What are you doing under the covers?" Ginny sat down and tugged at them. When they didn't budge, the smile was wiped off her face. She set the dark green goblet down on the bedside table and got a good grip. When Harry thought he was safe, she yanked them away. She saw the trails before Harry could swipe them away.  
"Go away, Ginny..." he said slowly. "Please...just go away."  
"Why?" She actually had the nerve to look puzzled.  
"Just go," he repeated, but louder this time.  
"Are you ashamed to cry in front of me?"  
"I'm not crying," he said furiously. "Ginny, please..."  
She got comfortable by folding her legs Indian style and settling in opposite of him.  
"What's wrong?" she asked, ignoring how he cursed her under his breath.  
"Nothing. Go away."  
"Is it Sirius?" she asked quietly. "Or what?"  
"What," Harry chose, making her kick him in exasperation. "I don't want to talk about it, Ginny. Really, not right now. I'm tired and-"  
"Feeling broke on the inside?" she suggested carefully.  
"Sure, whatever, doesn't matter. Just go."  
"Would you mind if I stayed?" she asked slyly.  
Harry narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously. "Why?"  
"I don't want to go down stairs," she said earnestly. "Fred and George read one of the letters that Dean sent me."  
She pushed her hair back, but Harry saw the look in her eyes. "Did you break up?"  
"He says we're too different," she said, shrugging. "That we can't possibly have a relationship when we're so different. Do you want to know why I'm really pissed though?" She continued before he could answer. "Bill, Charlie, and the twins all wrote him letters about me. About me. Bloody hell, Harry, I'm fifteen, not six. They treat me as if I'm some little girl who doesn't know what's she's doing. They don't even notice me, whether I'm there or not, or if I'm pale or flushed. I'm just the same old Ginny."  
Ah, so that must be what's got her all bristled up, Harry mused. He knew that Ron and Ginny were probably the most insecure in the Weasley family, considering that Ron was the youngest and the last boy while Ginny was the baby and the only girl. No matter what either of them did, it had already been done before, probably even twice. So it didn't surprise him that much to hear her express the unfairness of it. Actually, he was surprised only because Ginny had talked to him about it before Ron.  
"You're not the same old Ginny," Harry assured her. "Seriously. You grew your hair out, your eyes darkened, you, uh," he gestured at her body, flushing dark pink. "Your they're little sister, Virginia, nothing you can do about that. They consider you family, which is probably why they don't really confide in you. Maybe they don't want you to change."  
"Oh," she snorted, although she had laughed loudly when he'd flushed. "That's nice. 'Stay the same, Ginny. That way we can always make sure you don't mess your life up.' I can just imagine them saying that. I really, sincerely can."  
"Guess what?" Harry said, hiding a smile.  
"What?" Ginny said curiously, eyeing him.  
"I can too."  
She stood. "You're not helping!" But she was smiling and laughing when she shut the door, which made Harry smile before taking his Dreamless Sleep Potion. When his eyes closed, Harry praised God for the unbearable relief. Finally, he could drop into nothingness and forget all about his problems. In this world, even though it had no rain or a colorful sunset, there was absolutely, blissfully nothing. No fear for the future, no fear for his family and friends. No pain. He didn't have to remember Sirius. In fact, Harry would later swear that he'd seen Sirius, smiling and laughing, surrounded by his mother and father.  
In this world, everything was just perfect. Because it was nothingness, and a lot at that.  
* * * * * *  
  
Harry woke up dressed in the same clothes, with two extra blankets piled on top of the single one he'd had before. He'd expected to feel refreshed, maybe rejuvenated, but he only felt odd and...broken on the inside. That was the odd feeling he hadn't been able to distinguish. He felt broken on the inside, as if everything was either empty or completely cracked and worthless. He went to the bathroom across the hall and cleaned up. His hair, he noticed incredulously, was getting so long it reached his ears in the back and was beginning to curl. He stared at himself for a minute, wondering if he should keep it or ask Mrs. Weasley to cut it off.  
When he went to school, people would stare and talk anyways, so why not let it grow and give them something to talk about between classes? He smiled, then winced when his mind was poked again. He positioned his wand into the waistband of his jeans and headed downstairs.  
Only Remus, Tonks, and Mrs. Weasley were in the kitchen. They all watched him apprehensively for a moment, then continued their meal and conversation.  
"Are you hungry, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked cheerfully. Harry saw her smile falter a little.  
"Not really. I'll just-" She shoved a plate filled with eggs and toast into his hands. He sat down. "I'll just have this."  
Remus and Tonks laughed. Harry still felt a little tension in it, but when he gave them an odd look they both started to talk about shields again.  
"They don't reflect counterjinxes," Remus insisted.  
"They do, too, Rem. I'm telling you. Try one."  
"No. They don't. You have no clue what you're talking about."  
Tonks looked mortally wounded. "Excuse me, but I got excellent marks in Shielding and Casting, thank you very much."  
"I'm old school," Remus said with a small laugh. "I learned about shields back when it was new and stronger and fresh."  
Harry leaned back. His stomach protested greatly at the large amount of food he had yet to eat. Then he noticed that Mrs. Weasley was cooking something that looked like lunch. Tonks and Remus were still debating about shields, passing the subject around like a tennis ball. Harry rolled the rest of his eggs into the piece of bread, aimed for the garbage can. It made a 'thunk', but nobody seemed to notice. He looked at the two pieces of bread left and the tiny amount of eggs. He took his chances at sneaking out of the kitchen, heading towards the girls' room on the floor above his own. He knocked, then opened the door and shut it behind him.  
"You're up!" Ginny said, delighted.  
Ron and Hermione looked up from the newspaper, pale.  
"Do you want to play chess?" she asked quickly.  
"Sure," Harry said with a smile. "But not until I read that paper."  
He took a seat and looked over Hermione's shoulder. Then snatched it away and gaped at his picture. It wasn't a newspaper, but a magazine. With his picture plastered on it.  
"Harry Potter Surprises Wizarding World With Excellent O. W. L. Scores!" he read aloud. "How the hell did they get my grades?" he asked Hermione, looking up, scandalized.  
She shook her head frantically. "I don't know, Harry. I really don't. Mr. Weasley went in early to talk to Fudge-"  
"Dad's never looked so furious," Ginny put in proudly.  
"Yeah," Ron said, opening the magazine to the page where Harry looked out at them. Then he handed it back to him to look at. "He'll find out what happened."  
"I'm sure its illegal," Hermione said softly. "It would be just disgraceful if it wasn't."  
"It is illegal." Ginny arranged the pieces of chess expertly. "It's breaking the privacy code. That's why Dad was so furious. I heard Charlie talking about Dumbledore giving penalties. That's what the Chief of the Wizengamot can do," she explained at Harry's and, surprisingly, Hermione's puzzled face. "He can make people pay the offended person money by giving penalties if he thinks something was unfairly done to a person. I wonder if he's really going to do that."  
"But the letter it spoke of is anonymous." Harry scanned the two-page article, snarling at it. There was no name at all, or the name of the journalist. "He can blame an innocent person when they publish a story that was sent in."  
"At least you did awesome on you O. W. L.'s Harry." This from Ginny. Hermione nodded.  
"It could have been a lot worse," the latter said, closing it up and tossing it on the empty seat in the couch.  
Harry was quiet when they started to talk about Dumbledore. He wasn't sure how he felt about the Headmaster. He didn't blame him, or couldn't tell if he did. Even though Dumbledore had admitted it was mostly his fault Sirius was dead; Harry still couldn't see it. But this year was going to be different. He wasn't going to let Dumbledore keep anything that involved him or Voldemort secret. Another innocent wasn't going to die because Harry wasn't informed.  
"Harry?"  
His head snapped up.  
"Are you okay?" Ron asked.  
He'd gone into one of his fits again. Harry nodded, then rubbed his hands because they had started to tingle.  
"You guys?" he said suddenly, talking over something Ron said.  
They turned to him, curious as to why he'd interrupted them again. Harry was pretty sure they thought he was going to talk to him about what was bothering him, but he didn't think he was ready for that, wasn't sure he'd ever be.  
"I-" He cleared his voice, tried again. "I think Voldemort's trying to get into my mind."  
There was silence. Harry shifted, uneasy with all their eyes solely on his. He wasn't used to having all the attention placed on him yet. Especially since the D. A. hadn't been in secession for months.  
"What do you mean?" Ron asked uncertainly.  
"It feels like he's trying to get into my head," he explained quietly. "Sometimes its bad, like a seizure that doesn't end for a few minutes, and sometimes it just gets all cold or really, really hot. Others it just feels like something's prodding my mind."  
Hermione didn't look too surprised. "Remus told us what happened, how you collapsed yesterday."  
"Are you blacking out yet?" Ginny swiveled around in her chair to get a better view of Harry.  
He didn't like how she said 'yet', but he shrugged. "I don't know. I can't tell. Sometimes it just feels like...like I'm broken inside, or empty. Sometimes I don't know where I am."  
Ginny paled dramatically at the term she'd used the night before. She shot Ron and Hermione a quick look, then gave Harry the same, panicked look, as if she was stuck in a black pit and needed help out.  
"You need to get to Dumbledore," Hermione said, unaware of Ginny's distress. "That sounds as if it could get bad, real bad."  
Harry stood. "I'm going to tell Mrs. Weasley..."  
* * * * * * 


	2. Chapter Two: Healers and Unspeakables

Chapter Two: Healers and Unspeakables  
  
Harry Potter and the Will to Live  
  
Dumbledore didn't come the next day like Mrs. Weasley had promised. In fact, the entire week after that he waited, hoping for the Headmaster to come, but he didn't. His birthday passed with four seizures, and everyone who stayed at Grimmauld Place began to get tense and apprehensive.  
Harry managed to limit his 'seizures' as he began to call them, to when he was alone or at night, but they happened all the time, whether it was night or day. He was losing his control more often. He went off in his own world for even longer than he had before, thinking of everything more than he really should be. He knew that because every time he tried to think of it, suicide swam through his mind. Harry didn't need to know how disasterous it would be if he just so happened to kill himself and robbed Voldemort of the pleasure.  
"Harry! Come down here, please!"  
Harry glanced at his friends. They were upstairs in the girls' room playing chess; the girls were reading out of the same magazine.  
"Do you think he finally came?" he questioned hopefully.  
"Go check," Hermione suggested anxiously from her place on the bed.  
Mrs. Weasley was pale and fidgeting when Harry walked in. She took his hands in hers in a gesture of uncertainty. It was then that Harry saw Snape lurking by the table, looking as if he'd rather suffer a hex than be where he was at the moment.  
"Harry, dear, Headmaster Dumbledore just received our message. He can't come, so he sent Professor Snape to take you...somewhere." She spoke to him as if he was a little boy who had to go with a nurse for a shot, but had to go alone. She glared at Snape. "He won't tell me where."  
"Okay," he took his hands out of hers and shoved them in his pockets. He didn't like people touching him like that, especially if it was out of sympathy. "Where are we going, or are you not allowed to tell me?" he asked his most hated professor with only a little bitterness in his voice.  
Normally, he'd have refused to go anywhere with Snape but considering his choices there really wasn't that much more he could do about it. Mrs. Weasley put a hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off and took a step back.  
"We're going to Hogwarts. You don't need your stuff yet."  
When Snape pulled out a piece of gum still in the wrapper, he stepped forward to touch it.  
"Don't forget to write, Harry," she said tearfully.  
He nodded, then sucked in a breath and closed his eyes as he tumbled. He landed unsteadily in the Hospital Wing, grabbing a bedpost to sturdy himself so he wouldn't fall.  
"Welcome, Mr. Potter. I've been told that you've been having some problems that I might be able to fix. Severus, we should be fine together from here on out."  
Harry swiveled around at the sound of the voice. A witch stood there, her hands fisted on the hips of her jean-clad hips. She looked odd to him with her black fishnet blouse and her dark violet eyes. But she was smiling, so he tried to ease the ever-present tension in his shoulders.  
Snape, however, tensed up enough to have Harry watching him suspiciously.  
"Dumbledore said to make sure he got settled in."  
The girl (she really did look young) rolled her eyes heavenward. "It's been two years since I've been here, Father, not twenty. I'm sure Harry would be a lot more comfortable without you here. Now, please leave," she said forcefully.  
Did she just say...? Harry looked at Snape's stony face. For a moment Snape stared at her with a face that Harry had never seen him take on before, then he swept out of the room without another glare or word, his robes flaring out around him as they always did. The girl watched him sadly. Harry noticed how her long, black hair fell to curtain her face from his view. He could nonetheless see that she was a skinny one, and tall. Two details that he could match up with Snape. But there stopped the resemblance as she turned back to him, assessing him with a sigh.  
"Yes," she said with a bitter smile, "I'm Snape's daughter. You'll learn about it soon enough, after we check a few things out."  
When she simply stood there, Harry shifted uneasily and asked, "What should I call you?"  
She smiled at him, one full of dazzling bright white teeth. "Call me Mack."  
He smiled at her.  
"Do you want to tell me where Professor Dumbledore is or did he tell you to keep me in the dark?"  
Mack tilted her head and studied him. "He told me to tell you if I thought it would keep you sane. Since it looks like you're sturdy enough, I will. He's in America, looking into spells and curses for you to use on Voldemort."  
"So you know the prophecy," he assumed coolly.  
"You know," she said, sounding awed, "I've heard everything possible there is to hear about you. I've talked to teachers, students, and people who have never even seen you before. People in America, in Africa, in France, though quite a few of the French students saw you two years ago."  
And he thought she'd be different. She was just the same as everybody else. Assuming who and what he was about without really knowing him at all. Harry despised people who did that. There went his idea of meeting a possibly decent new person, he mused bitterly.  
"Your point?" he asked, gesturing.  
"My point, Harry, is that they don't know you."  
He curled his lip in distaste. "Not many people do." Including you, he didn't say aloud.  
"Right." Mack stepped forward, lifted his chin with a tight, efficient move. He met her eyes and wondered how any one could ever have that strong and vibrant a color. Suddenly pain flashed into his mind, traveling through his body like poison injected into the veins leading to his heart. For a minute, he thought it was just one of his normal seizures. Then he noticed he couldn't take his eyes off Mack's. Betrayal had his shackles raising even higher, had his rage bubbling and boiling, waiting to spill over the rim of whatever was holding it back. But he couldn't. He tried to clear his mind, to blank it out completely, but already images of his past were flashing before both of their eyes.  
He saw a time where his Uncle had beaten him with a belt for breaking one of his Aunt's antiques. Before his eyes, he relived selected images of his First through Fifth Year, then relived the mistake he had made that took Sirius away from him. His body shook with an anger he felt to the very core of his soul. He cursed her, swearing mentally with every swear word he knew until the connection was broken.  
When he opened up his eyes, he was against the far wall, his head aching as if it had been hit. Mack, he realized, was in the same position but across the room, staring at him and glowing yellow. She jumped to her feet and sprinted over the moment he groaned.  
"Are you okay?"  
"Get the bloody hell away from me!" he shouted, pushing her hand away from his head and yanking himself up without her help. "Who the hell are you? Who do you think gave you permission to do that? What if I didn't know who you are and accidentally cursed you into next year?"  
Mack tried to grab his shoulders but he wrenched them away, much as he had to Mrs. Weasley only a few minutes earlier.  
"Tell me why!" he snarled furiously.  
"Harry-"  
"What, was that some test to see if I was some lunatic or something? Or did you do it just to get your jollies off of somebody's grief? Get away from me!" Harry circled around her when she tried to grab him again. If she thought he'd let her talk to him when he was cornered against a wall, she was the one who should be diagnosed a lunatic.  
"Harry, calm down!" She was shouting now, too. Her hair was mussed and her eyes...The glow that had surrounded her before had vanished except for her eyes. They were even brighter now, nearly a baby pink color.  
"Then start explaining!" he bellowed, his heart beating nearly as much as his head was.  
"I had to see if anything or anyone else was in your head! I couldn't have done that if you'd've been aware of what I was going to do. Now just calm down. I'm sorry I hit a nerve, but it was necessary. I promise you, Harry, I didn't do it to hurt you."  
"Just hurry up and check me already," he snapped.  
"Give me your hand," she said quietly. When he took a step in retreat, she just held her hand out further. "Please, trust me. I need to have your trust."  
"What are you going to do?" he asked suspiciously.  
"Show you who I am," she said, then grabbed his hand.  
  
...Mack was a little girl again. At the age of six, she thought her life was okay. Her Mommy loved and spent time with her, her dog was named Piety, and her father adored her mother. She was wearing a white silk dressing gown when she, giggling, slipped into the hallway and crept to the living room, but she stopped a foot from the opening. Someone was crying.  
She popped her head out a little bit, just enough so she could see. Then she gasped and pulled back. It was You-Know-Who. Her heart beating, she did the one thing her father had told her never to do. She didn't run. Instead, she watched. Her Daddy worked for him. She knew that. She was six, not stupid. Her father was being held back by Uncle Lucius and a group of men she didn't know. He was crying for her Mommy and bleeding on his forehead.  
"Daddy..." she said quietly, wanting to run into his arms, but she knew enough not to move, to attract no attention to herself no matter what the costs. She repeated that word to herself, whispering, "Daddy," over and over again to herself to keep from sobbing aloud. This wasn't supposed to happen. Her father had promised her he'd never come here, ever. He'd promised.  
Her mother was kneeling on the floor, her face towards the tile, weeping.  
"Please!" she whispered. "Please, my Lord. I'll do anything."  
"Kiss my robes," he ordered.  
Her mother crawled to do as he bid, then let out a high pitched cry when he grabbed her hair and yanked her to her feet. Voldemort was a handsome one, Mack thought. Mother said handsome boys were good, they were kind, but this one wasn't. He threw her mother against the wall. His dark black hair fell into caramel brown eyes. He was a murderer? The one her father worked for? She was confused. She was tired and crying and wanted desperately for her mother to hold her.  
Voldemort ripped Suzie Snape's nightgown at the seams. She wore nothing beneath it, so she tried to cover herself, weeping hysterically. Voldemort went to grab her breast.  
"Nooo!" Mack shrieked, clutching at the wall in front of her. "Mama!"  
She dodged the streak of green light that the handsome Voldemort sent her way, then watched, horrified, as it hit the wall behind her. It was stone. The room made a noise like a huge 'bong' when the color meshed with rock, then zipped back across the room to hit her mother square in the chest.  
  
Harry blinked hard.  
"We're even," she said quietly.  
Harry had no doubt that they were. "That was before my parents died, wasn't it?" he asked, reaching blindly behind him to find the bed. When he touched the brass, he used it to guide himself so he was sitting. Mack walked across the room, seemingly unbothered about what had just happened. Harry wasn't fooled, but he let it go. If she didn't have a right to question his memories, then he didn't have the right to question hers. She picked up what looked like a small box of wood and glass and carried it over. She sat opposite of him, then sighed.  
He began to think that maybe Mack Snape knew a little of what he was going through. Her mother had died, and in a way she had lost the father she'd loved, because of someone's betrayal. Harry wondered if Snape had betrayed them or simply did something that caused Voldemort to attack his family.  
"These are just a few tests, okay? This one is a blood sample." She held up an intricate object of silver. She held out her hand and he willingly put his on top. She smiled at him, then laughed when he jerked at the prick.  
"What will you do with the blood?" he asked curiously.  
She did something with her wand and the blood on the instrument vanished. "I'm sending it to the Unspeakable lab for further testing."  
Harry must have paled because she squeezed his hand. "Don't worry about it quite yet. I'm pretty sure it's not that serious."  
Harry waited for her to elaborate, but she didn't. More silence as he watched her pull out what looked like ice in a bottle.  
"I believe Voldemort has a bit of your blood in him, correct, Harry?"  
He nodded obediently.  
"And Dumbledore said he believes you have a connection with him because of that scar, right?"  
"Right," he echoed.  
"Well," she said briskly, meeting his eyes as she uncorked it and poured it into a hand size cauldron. She pulled out a red and green flask and poured equal amounts of them in with the ice-colored potion. "I absolutely believe that is correct, in a way. See, last year Dumbledore said Voldemort entered your body. It hurt, right?"  
"Yea," he said with a snort. That pain had been worse than the Cruciatis Curse he'd taken in Fourth Year.  
"That's good."  
She laughed at his face. "Not that you received pain, but because that means he couldn't just do it easily, or else you wouldn't have felt a thing. He'd have just taken control of you, pushed you back so you'd know what you were doing and what he was saying, but you couldn't or wouldn't be able to do anything. That's what Dumbledore thought might be happening. That's why he sent for me."  
"How do you know him?" he asked carefully.  
She looked up. "When my Mother died I floo'd here to Dumbledore. Back then, Snape said never go to him."  
"So you did the complete opposite because he'd betrayed you."  
She nodded, impressed. "I'm glad to see you're observant. I wasn't sure if what Dumbledore told me was true. He does like you, I'll tell you that. Holds you in the highest of regards."  
He bit his lip. "I don't know why, honestly." He hesitated, entranced by the fluid way she moved to finish concocting the potion. "I trashed his office a few weeks ago-"  
"I know. Minerva told me." Surprisingly, she smiled. "I punched him when I got here, ya' know. Straight in the nose. Nearly broke it, too, unless I was unconsciously exaggerating. I told him about Snape, about what he said and what happened. I had no idea what that green light was." She shook her head, as if looking at it from somebody else's point of view. Almost as if she pitied somebody she had never met. "I was mad because I wanted my Mother. He plucked me up into his arms and let me sleep in his big, velvet bed." Her eyes teared. "He had stuffed animals. Now that's a real man, one who doesn't need to kill people to feel all manly. The next day he found out who my mother's third cousin was, the only who wasn't a part of Voldemort's followers. She lived in France, in a small little village."  
"Did Snape ever find you?"  
She bit her lip, tears streaming down her face. Mack didn't make a noise though. He wished he could comfort her somehow, but he was scared to touch her in case it offended her. So he decided to stay silent. Maybe she would stop crying then. Maybe she'd stop talking altogether and let Harry go to bed. He was so tired right now.  
"No, I'm not sure he even tried. People say he turned bitter after that. I believe them. He used to be cold and cruel, but not as much as he is today. I came here before my Seventh Year. Sara, the distant cousin I was living with, had died, leaving five children in my care. They're living together now, and I'm paying for them with my inheritance."  
"He gave it to you?" Harry asked, shocked. "You just showed up out of the blue and he gave you money?"  
Her face creased bitterly. "I know. He asked how I was and what happened, and I told him. He gave me pretty much every dime he had. Otherwise, I wouldn't be here, treating him civilly."  
"I'm sorry," Harry said sincerely.  
She looked scandalized. "Oh, no. Oh, Harry, don't say that. This isn't your fault. Nothing that has ever happened to you has ever been your fault. Your just torturing yourself if you believe that it is. It's an honor to meet you. This is my job, helping people get well, helping them find out what is wrong. And it helps me do something that I've always wanted to do."  
There was a large lump in his throat. He tried to swallow it, but it didn't go away. So he did what he could to make his voice sound normal when he spoke.  
"What's that?"  
"Helping you defeat him. I want him to go down as much as you do, Harry. You've lost more and have more on the line than me, but I want you to win. Dammit, Harry, I want you to win against him. It helps me have hope that other families won't be messed up like ours were if I help. So don't go feeling guilty. It was my choice to come here and face Severus Snape."  
"I think about that, too," he admitted. "I want him to die so he can't make other children orphans, so he can't rid a good, hard-working family of a member, or a young child."  
She went to grab his hand. He let her, because he was feeling lonely and noticed she was crying again. "Great minds think alike, right?"  
He nodded. "Right."  
With a watery sigh, she pulled her hand back. "I'm going to ask you some questions," she said with the air of getting the worst over quickly. "I want you to answer them truthfully. Don't leave anything out. I need to know the truth," she said, meeting his eyes to make him understand that the truth must be told.  
"How long do you know the outbreaks to last?"  
"About five minutes," he said earnestly. "Well, they started out like that. Then it would take me that long to understand where I was and for my body to relax. It always tense up like...like I was preparing myself to suffer."  
"Does your body do this before or after the outbreak starts?"  
Baffled, Harry shook his head. "Sometimes it happens before, at the same time, and after it."  
"Usually?"  
"It usually happens before."  
A notepad of parchment appeared in her hand. While Harry gaped at her, she scribbled something down with a red peacock quill.  
Without looking up, she asked, "How do you feel during them? Is there pain, numbness, are you dizzy, incapable of speech, that sort of thing?"  
"It..." It was indescribable, was what it was, Harry mused. He clenched his fist and tried to think of what he thought of and felt during one of his latest seizures. "Its like everything is closing in on me, like the walls around me are shrinking, suffocating me until I can't breathe. I think of a bit of everything, my friends, Voldemort, school, the world in general, but I can't do anything but...think. It's hard to explain," he finished lamely.  
"Do you get dizzy?"  
"I can't move," he said instantaneously. He laughed uneasily. "And yes, I get really dizzy, as if everything's spinning on its axis. I'm immobilized, but I can still tell what is happening to me. Vaguely, but I can."  
"Can you see when you're taken under?" She finally lifted her head up. The way her eyebrows knitted together didn't comfort him at all.  
"Everything gets all fuzzy, but I can see big blobs of things. Like people or a door."  
"What happens afterward? Do you feel ill?"  
He tried to gauge what he'd felt after his latest seizure, then realized he could remember it avidly.  
"I was trembling," he admitted quietly, flushing. "My head was spinning and my body felt like jelly."  
"Your heart beat. Could you hear it beating in your chest, was your breathing really loud?"  
"I-I...honestly don't know, Mack. I'm really out of it when they happen."  
"How often do they occur?"  
"Truthfully?" he asked uneasily, although he already knew the answer.  
Her eyes narrowed. "Of coarse."  
"About five times a day," he told her reluctantly.  
She blinked, then scribbled down on her parchment.  
"Mack?"  
"Hmm?"  
"What's wrong with me?" he asked, feeling as if his world had just crashed down around his ears, which, in a way, it had been for the past three years.  
She tapped her quill down, then looked away and continued to write. "I don't know yet. Personally, I've never seen anything quite like this. Its as if somebody is trying to see your thoughts, or your surroundings, but as if he's far away, trying not to completely connect with you. I don't think its doing anything that bad to you, at least yet. Although, as it looks, you'll probably have to go to St. Mungo's-"  
"Why?" He straightened, uncoiling himself like a spring unhampered. If nothing was harming him then why would he have to go to St. Mungo's, where people with disfigured faces and addled brains went? He scolded himself, forcing his shoulders to relax a little. He was being unfair. He remembered the time when Malfoy had used the term 'addled brains' last year and when Neville had attempted to attack him for it.  
"Because, as I said, I am one of the top ten Unspeakables who study mental and physical brain intrusions. This is abnormal, and we need to figure out what is going on to see if it can harm you. Maybe you're just fighting off Voldemort's advances. I heard Snape gave you Occlumency lessons this past year." Her voice hinted that she felt sorry for him only for that reason.  
"Will the tests hurt?"  
"Extremely," she said apologetically but bluntly, "but you mustn't worry about it yet. Your family will be there."  
"My family's de-oh, you mean the Weasleys. They're not really family; they're just friends."  
"It's an idiot who pushes wonderful people out of their life," she said wisely.  
"I'm not pushing them-" Harry started indignantly, then silenced when the notepad of parchment vanished from view. "How do you do that?" he asked weakly.  
She laughed. "Practice, Harry." She ruffled his hair just to annoy him. "Lots and lots of practice, and then some more, and then some."  
"Sounds tedious," he said honestly.  
"You try living with a medicine woman for half your life. She was always repeating herself. That's how you learn. If somebody tells you the world is flat when your just born, and then until you turn seventeen, and then somebody tries to tell you the world is round, what do you think your going to remember?"  
"The theory you've been told about your entire life."  
"Exactly." She stood to pull on a sweater that was hanging on the bottom of his bedpost. "That's why people who grow up with abusive families think everything's always their fault."  
Harry was smart enough to get the hint, and resent it. "My relatives aren't abusive."  
"Could have fooled me." She winked cheerfully. "'Night, my troubled friend. Do you mind just sleeping in those clothes?"  
Harry let himself fall backwards. "Not at all," he muttered.  
"Good. Oh, I'll be sleeping out here, too, in case you have a-"  
"Seizure," Harry supplied. "I call them seizures."  
"Okay, if you have a seizure."  
"What will you do if I have one?" he asked anxiously.  
"Oh, just check your pulse, your dilation, hold your hand. You know."  
"You won't feed me any potions or any stuff like that?"  
"Not unless I have no choice," she answered truthfully.  
Not at all comforted at the thought, Harry pushed his arms behind his head and closed his eyes. A moment later Mack blew out the torches, then settled herself into her own bed next to Harry. He turned. He could see the whites of her eyes in the pitch-black darkness. They stared at each other for a while, Harry's heart beating wildly in his chest at the thought of tests at St. Mungo's, at the thought of somebody reading his thoughts while he slept. Then he closed his eyes and concentrated on not having a nightmare.  
He should have known better.  
* * * * * *  
  
...He was excited. In less than two months, Azkaban would be his to rule. He had big hopes for all that stone and darkness. With the new recruits, he needed somewhere to be able to train them well for battle, to teach them how to win against predictable Aurors. Dumbledore would be betrayed by his own protection spells. The one place, the one safe home for mass criminals, was about to become the property of the Dark Lord, and it would be the first, but most definitely not the last, acquisition of the war.  
Oh, no, Dumbledore, he mused to himself ferociously, this isn't the cusp of the war, but the very, very beginning of the end.  
Harry Potter was his only problem. He swirled and came face-to-face with his quarters. The room was rich in green velvet and black. No light swept in, but the shadows of the dim blue candlelight drowned him in their fragrance. There was no stopping him now. Snape would be finishing that strengthening potion. That would be enough to give him the strength to enter Hogwarts, or at least attack it enough to wound the Light Side. Then Dumbledore would be forced to both surrender himself and Potter separately or have his precious students blown up to tiny bits.  
"Master," someone said loudly outside the door.  
"Come in-" He stilled as he felt something prod in his head. The excitement was gone. In its place was pure, black fury. The kind of fury that caused a man to go insane, to murder his own blood relatives.  
And Harry Potter was at its center.  
* * * * * *  
  
Harry bit his lip as soon as his mind was returned to his own body. Pain reverberated like an echo in his head, as if Voldemort himself had screamed in the center of a cavern and Harry was at the entrance. He sat up, then put his feet on the ground surreptitiously. Instantly, he dug for a piece of parchment in Madam Pomfrey's desk. He found a quill and a bottle of ink, then began to write quickly, not caring if it looked like he was in the middle of bleeding to death.  
He was able to recount most of it easily, and when he couldn't, he just had to put his head in his hands and think long and hard. Pain wracked through his body at odd, uneven times. Harry thought Voldemort might be trying to make him distracted so he would forget what he'd seen and heard. But he didn't. Harry just fought by stiffening his muscles whenever they came, ceased to write, and then continued to write with the help of the moonlight pouring through the large, arched glass window.  
There was a peck at the window. Harry didn't look up. His letter to Dumbledore was anonymous. He didn't want to have an owl send a very important letter and have somebody follow it. He knew that Dumbledore was in America, somewhere, but he didn't know any specifics. He guessed as he silently let Hedwig into the Hospital Wing that he'd probably have to leave that particular aspect to her.  
How was it that this specific owl seemed to be as smart as a human, if not more? he wondered to himself in fond amazement, as he stroked one of her wings.  
"Hey girl," he said in her ear. He could barely hear himself, but he knew by the way her ears perked up that she did loud and clear. "You're the best, you know that?"  
She pushed against his hand, then nipped one of his fingers in approval.  
"I'm going to ask that you run your wings bald for me tonight, okay? Dumbledore must get this as soon as possible. Sooner, actually." He tied it to her leg and gave her head a gentle scrub. "Do your best."  
She took off in a whirl of cool wind. Harry turned to make sure Mack was still asleep in her bed. Then, just as quietly, he closed the latch and returned to his bed.  
He was definitely going to be up for a while.  
* * * * * *  
  
"How did you sleep?"  
Harry looked up at Professor McGonagall, surprised somebody had spoken to him. They, meaning the Hogwarts Staff (most of them stayed at Hogwarts over summer break), were in the Great Hall, which, to Harry, seemed abandoned. The four House tables were completely empty. Not even a single piece of parchment to represent the dozens of children who would be sitting there in only a two short weeks. The Head Table looked pretty empty, too, because the teachers had made it so they took up shorter space and could sit across from each other. He sat between Mack and Sinistra, Hermione's Runes professor. They were quite talkative, the bunch of them. But until now none of them had actually talked to him.  
Not that he wanted them too. It felt too odd to be sitting up here with them. Too odd to be alone with all these teachers without a single young soul among them. Well, Mack could be considered young. She only looked twenty-one, give or take a few years.  
Harry hadn't eaten much. He thought it was probably that which had caught her attention, or the fact that he kept his head down and his shoulders slumped. Truth be told, he felt as if he was going to let his head fall straight onto his plate of eggs and toast, and pass out. If it was possible to even make your own body pass out at command.  
"Fine," he lied easily.  
Snape eyed him unbelievingly. Did he know that Harry had been in Voldemort's head last night? Had he been around when Voldemort had ranted furiously afterwards? Snape was after all an operating agent and might have been the one knocking on Voldemort's door last night. Harry hated him even more for being who he was and what he had done to Mack and Sirius, and even to himself.  
"Really?" he asked with a sneer.  
Harry leaned back in his chair. Most of the teachers were still talking, but Harry knew better. They had their ears pricked to hear what he had to say.  
"Unless you can tell me otherwise, sir, I suggest you believe what I say. Am I allowed to go to the library?" he asked Mack. "Or do you need to be on my back while I walk the isles?"  
Mack grinned. "I need to be on your back while you walk the isles. Sorry, Harry."  
He rolled his eyes. Standing, he looked at her. "Are you coming, then?"  
Mack grabbed a couple of rolls. When she found out that she could carry more if she stuffed the one she held in her hand in her mouth, she grinned at him, chewing furiously.  
"Muming," she said.  
* * * * * * 


End file.
